


Anything you want it to be

by withered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode related spoiler, Episode: s14e10 Nihilism, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone in the Bunker, Gen, It's Dean's happy life, It's a happy life, M/M, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Team Free Will parenting, Team as Family, Winchester family in the Bunker, bunker family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Most hunters live lives filled with blood and death.There are a few who don't. Because sometimes they get lucky.Sometimes, they've got an angel watching them.





	Anything you want it to be

 

 

“Alright, start her up!”

One heartbeat. Two.

The engine purrs, its’ body rumbling in a subtle hum beneath its gleaming gunmetal grey skin.

It's hardly a conspicuous car for a hunter, but it isn't like Dean has much of a leg to stand on in that department.

Still, the 1974 Plymouth Barracuda had been in bad shape when they’d liberated her from some scrap heap next door to the graveyard they were desecrating in Minnesota. But the kid had insisted he needed his own set of wheels now that he could drive, and said Cas’ truck was _canceled_ about eighty years ago.

(Clearly, Claire was taking her ‘honorary’ big sister role a little too seriously by catching the kid up with the millennial lingo.

Though Jack was two, technically, and Dean had heard that was a rough age for kids. Or their parents. With the way he, Sam and Cas would routinely be seen bearing expressions of exhausted exasperation, and Jody had laughed until she cried, Dean would make a case for the latter.)

Anyway, work put in during the downtime between hunts, and recovering from said hunts, had the car sounding beautiful and the paint job looking immaculate; it was practically brand new.

All it needed was one of those ridiculous little pine-tree things to hang over the rear-view.

Maybe Dean would petition for a pair of fuzzy dice, in memory of Cas’ long-lost pimpmobile.

Though, with Cas’ sense of dry humor, he might go the religious route and get Jack a rosary to hang instead.

Grinning wide, Dean drops the hood, and through the windscreen, Jack grins back. He kills the engine less than a second later and hopping out; all gangly long limbs and floppy brown hair, Dean would think he took after Sam entirely too much until he sees an echo of Cas’ cheekbones and nose, and a near replica of his eyes.

The curl to his lip though, that’s all Dean, and he makes sure to groan aloud, “Oh, hell no.”

“Come on, you promised!”

“Yeah, but -”

“And I’ve driven by myself before,” Jack reminds.

Disbelieving, he snorts. “No way, when?”

“Last hunt,” the kid reminds with a knowing, indulgent grin that gives Dean a familiar pinprick of annoyance because despite being only _two,_ Jack is a fucking smartass. Jesus, just like Sam, seriously.

“I was in the car.”

“You were in the back seat,” he points out, cheerfully smug, “and passed out. I drove.” He widens his eyes for dramatic effect. “For four hours.”

“I was still in the car,” he retorts petulantly to Jack’s sigh of amusement with an eye roll to match. Definitely spending too much time with Claire. _Damn it, Cas, we’re gonna have a talk about how you’re raising these two._

Huffing, Dean rolls his eyes in turn, rubbing a hand over his mouth in consideration.

They’d made the car a hunter’s car right from the beginning: fixed up the glove compartment with a hidden compartment of fake IDs and burner phones; equipped a false bottom in the trunk, loaded up and ready to go; a devil’s trap etched into the interior ceiling and Enochian symbols sown into the seats for warding and an extra layer of protection, the car was as battle ready and hunter-certified as Baby.

Dean can taste the engine grease, feel the slick of motor oil, and if he concentrates, he can hear the rasp of his two-day stubble between the callouses of his palm.

The kid’s been doing good.

With all the training he’s got under his belt in his short life, and all the jobs he’s been with them and other hunters over the past few months; Jack is as ready as he’s ever going to be to fly the coop solo. Even if it’s only for a few days.

It isn’t even for a case.

Just a road trip.

Just to see the sights.

Go on a drive.

See the sunset.

Sleep in a shitty motel.

Look up at the stars.

Order something by himself at one of those dodgy diners.

Awkwardly charm the small town’s people he’ll inevitably run into.

Get to be a real person, _a normal person_.

“Fine, fine,” Dean sighs, and over the kid’s excited whoop, he raises his hand just in time to stop Jack from going in for a hug. “But you will call, every hour on the hour until you get to Bobby’s. You got that?”

As embarrassingly, unconsciously earnest as Cas; smile lines pinch around his eyes and a dimple digs at his cheek when Jack agrees, “I got it.”

Ignoring that ache in his chest that’s somewhere along the scale of hard-fought pride and unwavering affection, Dean grabs the cloth from the back pocket of his jeans and throws it at the kid, saying, “And God, before you even think about heading over to dinner with Jody and the girls, clean up a little would ya?”

He’s already walking away when the kid agrees to that too, and as he does, Dean hears Jack already on the phone, telling Jody that he’ll leave home in a couple of hours and _should I bring something for you? I’m getting Bobby a novelty magnet from the nearest Gas-n-Sip I can get to, I like the ones Cas sticks on the fridge, and Dean said Bobby’d like this weird book we found in the storeroom and –_

The Bunker is blessedly empty of other hunters today.

Ever since they opened up the other Men of Letters chapter houses, it made living and hunting a lot easier all around for everyone. Lebanon is still the main headquarters for any hunter in North America, but for Dean, it would always be home-base.  

“Anyone want a beer?” he calls out as he opens the fridge.

“It’s ten-thirty,” the sasquatch says _like it matters_ , but there’s a fondly exasperated lilt to his voice, and then Eileen is saying, “I’ll have one.”

“You’re too good for my brother,” Dean shouts back and over the slight suction of the door sealing close, he hears Eileen laugh. Unwillingly, Sam must've told her what he said.

The fridge is littered with magnets sticking up postcards and photographs; memories of places they've been too, adventures they've had, jobs they didn't die from, just them, just...all of them.

One heartbeat. Two.

Mom, balancing a cup of tea in a chipped novelty mug – probably another shopping decision by Cas – gives him a knowing look from the table. Dean pretends to ignore her.

Sam’s still looking a little pissy when he comes around the corner, beers sweating in hand but Eileen only digs her sock-clad feet into his brother’s thigh as she accepts the offering.

Charlie smirks from across them. “Lemme guess, you caved?”

“He was using the eyes,” Dean retorts mulishly, sliding hers across the table.

“Well, handmaiden, I can’t fault the coping mechanism when the service is so good.” She lifts the brown bottle in a mock toast, and Dean’s taking a sip to prevent implicating himself further, and turning tail.

Their accompanying voices follow him out. They sound cheerful. Someone laughs.

As he makes a turn to his room, he bumps into Kevin – dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie that’s seen better days in the bottom of a Goodwill bin – who looks a little worse for wear.

“Whoa, raccoon eyes, what’s the deal?”

“I just caught up on Game of Thrones. Don’t talk to me.”

Dean raises a hand in mock offense as the kid makes a beeline for the kitchen. From the hallway, he hears Mom speak, and then he smells the coffee.

Cas is around the corner, tending to the latest plant he’s dragged in and saved from god knows where. It’s already been re-potted to match the other “house plants” Cas has been bringing in over the past few months since he’s made the Bunker home.

Eventually, they’re gonna have to have a room for it all before it takes over the entire hallway, Dean thinks fondly. Maybe they can do a reno – get some kind of natural light in, maybe even a second floor of some kind?

Then again, they could just use the strip of land behind the abandoned power plant.

Cas would angle for a beehive or five, but at least they’d be making their own honey.

With the amount Mom puts in her tea and Sam’s been using to substitute sugar (and making Jack do the same), it’ll probably be more economical in the long run.

Hell, they might even be able to turn it into a legit side-hustle by selling it in the next town over. They could have a stall and everything; Winchester Bees.  Sam still hasn’t stopped giving him shit about avoiding the local Farmers’ Market like the plague, at least this way it’ll be a profitable trip.

Though, knowing Cas, they might actually run at a loss.

The guy might not be much of an angel anymore by his own admission, but he’s entirely too generous and self-sacrificing for his own good.

Even now, fussing over some plant that looks like it could collapse with a nervous cough from the end of the hallway, Cas is frowning enough that his forehead is crinkled, lips puckered thoughtfully.

Dean’s wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling in before he can think much of it, even as he feels that jump in his heart that turns into a steady drum against his chest when Cas leans into it.  

He smells like sunshine, his voice like rolling thunder, “You said yes?”

One heartbeat. Two.

“Figured Jack earned it,” Dean says into his neck before Cas is turning in his arms, sliding large palms against his back.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, embracing the bashful wave of heat that creeps up his neck and curls around his ears, and squeezing Cas back just because he can. The impromptu hug is short lived, but Cas doesn’t wander far. One of Cas’ feet are still between his, their hips still touching, hands straying – mid back, lower, lingering. Dean nods. “See you’ve brought a friend home.”

“I thought it looked nice,” Cas says, and he chuckles.

“Angel, you’ve got a serious savior complex.”

“Well it got me you, didn’t it?”

One heartbeat. Two.

Rolling his eyes, he complains, “Real smooth, babe.”

“So, I’m told,” Cas swipes and their noses brush and their lips touch and it's good – its all good.

One heartbeat. Two.

-

“Alright, start her up!”

One heartbeat. Two.

The car rumbles.

The hood shuts.

Jack and Dean exchange a smile. 

Mom kisses his cheek in greeting when he goes into the kitchen.

One heartbeat. Two.

-

Kevin’s in the war room with a million books spread out. He and Charlie are arguing. The map of Westeros lies pinned beneath the books. Apparently, he was catching up on Game of Thrones last night and has some stuff to _discuss_.

Sam is graciously presiding over the proceedings; Eileen’s feet are in his lap.

One heartbeat. Two.

Bobby calls.

Cas steals the phone with a kiss to the cheek before talking to the old man instead of finishing what he started.

One heartbeat. Two.

-

Dean kisses Cas; rougher, more demanding, more. For no reason, none at all. Cas takes every drop.

And Dean feels like sunlight is streaming right out of his pores.

One heartbeat. Two.

Cas is loud when they have sex; Dean aches and basks in the familiarity of it.

One heartbeat. Two.

-

Claire shows up with Kaia, they volunteer to help Jack break in the Barracuda a few minutes into his and Jack’s discussion about taking the car on his own at all.

All three of them refuse to take Dean’s no for an answer.

Dean won’t admit it, but his heart swells at how protective they are of each other – and each other's freedom.

One heartbeat. Two.

Rowena is over to help with some research spiral Sam and Kevin are in. They have Sunday lunch before the kids head out and Rowena is due to leave, though the witch declines staying any longer than that – she’s meeting Crowley for a demon shake-up at some undisclosed location. Nothing to worry about.

Over pot roast and potatoes, they discuss going to Garth's daughter's baptism.  

Cas makes a joke.

Charlie is still in tears over it by the time they have pie.

One heartbeat. Two.

-

 “Mom’s making pancakes,” he tells Kevin when he runs into him – raccoon-eyed and cranky – and Dean swallows down the urge to scold him about his sleeping habits, Game of Thrones or not, when he spots Cas.

His trench coat billows behind him like a sail, his expression determined; eyes intense with an aura of Don’t Fuck with Me that’s so similar to the day they met in that barn so many years ago that it gets Dean’s engines revving.

One heartbeat. Two.

The angel’s expression softens in relief when he sees Dean, and it isn’t a surprise then that Dean has him backed up against the wall the second Kevin’s out of sight. Though Cas makes the sweetest surprised sigh before he melts right into him.

Dean still has motor oil on his arms from helping Jack finish up with the car, and he doesn’t smell much better, but Cas licks into his mouth like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

One heartbeat. Two.

It takes some persuading to get Dean into their room – there’s a house rule about sex in common areas not being allowed, and the hallway probably counts, even if Cas didn't let him return the favor.

They have burgers for lunch later that day anyway, so Dean hopes that's enough to make up for it. Not that he won't try again later.

In any case, after some arguing about whose’s turn it is to do the cleaning up, Jack volunteers him and Cas; it's his best move for getting any kind of private conversation with the Bunker always bustling with people. Dean and Sam already said yes, but the kid probably thinks he needs to ask Cas too if he can go on this road trip.

They play Uno in between working the phones and doing research for other hunters.

When Cas comes out of the kitchen, he’s noticeably confused at the setup, and Dean shrugs, says, “It’s one of those days. Sometimes we hunt, sometimes we veg, but we’re always together.”

Kevin teases about Dean having a soft spot under all that masculinity.

Charlie acknowledges the momentous occasion and thanks her handmaiden for pleasing the queen.

Cas is more quiet after.

Hours later, Dean wakes up.

Blinking back the darkness of his room, he’s immediately on alert. Having a home in the Bunker as long as they have may be a blessing, but he can’t afford to soften his hunter’s instincts. It isn’t just him or Sam that could get hurt, his whole family is here. Reflexively, he reaches for Cas beside him. He's already tense.

“Dean?”

That’s not – that’s not dangerous, he thinks dimly, but his hand tightens nonetheless. “Yeah, babe?”

One heartbeat. Two.

 “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s strained and tight and – _no_.

As easily as breathing, Dean pulls the angel into his chest, locking him with tangled legs and arms and murmuring into his hair, “No – don’t-don’t go – whatever it is we can fix it. We can. Whatever deal you made we can - we'll find out a way."

Cas' sigh is shaky, and there’s still thunder in his voice; still whiskey warm, still _here_ , “Dean…” He could’ve just left, Dean thinks hysterically, he didn’t, though – Cas didn’t. Cas isn’t going anywhere, Dean won’t let him – Dean won’t –He had everything he could ever want now, and he can't lose it - can't lose Cas.

“If you don’t know by now how much I…I know we don’t talk about it, but I…”

Even now, eyes luminous and intent and jarringly intense; a spark of grace behind his gaze, thrumming an ancient sort of magic that’s built empires and torn through wars; Cas is safe; Cas is family; Cas is home.

One heartbeat. Two.

He stops the words from coming because Cas knows. Cas has always known. He doesn’t need the words, never did.

Their mouths meet, tender and full of benediction; eyelashes fluttering and tangling; breath shared, mingling.

Cas' jaw clenches, but he doesn't look away. He wants Dean to know -- he wants to tell Dean the truth. And it's going to hurt, Cas looks in pain enough at the thought alone. But his eyes are so soft, so tender, so  heartbreakingly sad.

And Jesus, Dean loves him. And Cas, Cas has got to know that.

He holds his breath; waits for the gavel to drop; his heart to break, regardless.

One breath. Two.

And then, it does.

_“Poughkeepsie.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I only started watching Supernatural two years ago, and I've always wanted to write something for it so ta-da~
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here if you want to find out more about my work](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com/)


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